


Smoke and Mirrors

by luthien82



Category: NCIS
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Marijuana, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-14
Updated: 2008-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthien82/pseuds/luthien82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He didn't do this very often, only when it'd been one hell of a day.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Alternate States"-Challenge over at **ncis_flashfic** on LJ. I originally wanted to write a “Five Things” fic for this challenge with Tony on pain killers but then this came to me instead. I never smoked weed so this is probably not the way to do it or how it works.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: NCIS belongs to Donald P. Bellisario, Don McGill, Paramount and everyone else who thinks they own a piece of it. No profit is made, this has been made purely for fun.

* * *

He didn't do this very often, only when it'd been one hell of a day. Tony snorted while he sat down on the blanket he'd set out for himself. One hell of a day was definitely an understatement.

He stared up into the night sky, not seeing any stars. The city lights were too bright but Tony didn't care. He wasn't here for star gazing, after all.

Reaching into his breast pocket, he took out a neatly rolled joint. He stared at it for a moment, the small twinge of guilt coiling in his gut – he _was_ an ex-cop, after all – before he let it go, took out his matches and lit it.

When the first wave of smoke hit his lungs, he coughed, eyes watering. It'd been a while since the last time. He wasn't a regular smoker and certainly didn't smoke weed very often, so his lungs needed some getting used to before he could enjoy the hit.

He sank down onto the blanket and stared up at the ink-black night sky. When he'd moved into this apartment complex, he wouldn't have thought that the roof could turn out to be his shelter when things got too much and the walls closed in on him. Up here, he always had the sense of freedom, of being able to breathe properly.

And he could smoke a joint without anyone being any wiser.

He took another drag, inhaling the smoke, letting it circle around his lungs before exhaling slowly. Watching the tendrils of smoke going up and curling around his head was hypnotizing. He smiled lazily. Strong stuff but _damn_ , it was good.

He closed his eyes briefly, took another drag and let the drug do its magic. The pictures of the last four days disappeared. The smell of blood and gore, the sounds of madness and gunfire – it all vanished like the smoke he exhaled. Cases with kids always got to him the most. Seeing Gibbs nearly lose it wasn't a fun event either. His boss was always so stoic and composed. Well, let there be kids involved and he was worse than a she-bear defending her cub.

Tony let these thoughts go, practically melted into the cushy blanket, enjoying the fuzzy, lethargic state the drug put him in. Gave him the illusion that everything would be fine come morning. And in a weird sense it almost always was.

“Engaging in illegal drug use, DiNozzo?”

He hadn't heard any footsteps but he would recognize that voice anywhere. The sense of peace the joint had induced in him prevented him from panicking. Instead, his mouth curled into a soft smile and he replied, “I'm just kicking back, boss. I'm off-duty. And that's trespassing, by the way. This complex is private property.”

“Arrest me.”

Tony's smile widened and he opened his eyes a bit to peer up at Gibbs. He looked relaxed, not concerned in the slightest by the realization that his senior field agent indulged in drugs in his free time.

“Wanna have a hit?” Tony asked quietly and offered the joint, half of it already gone. Gibbs looked at it speculatively and shook his head.

“Your loss,” Tony mumbled and took another hit, the joint pressed tightly between thumb and index finger. His eyes closed out of their own volition and he relaxed even further into the blanket. He heard the rustling of clothes and opened his eyes again. Rolling his head to the side, he saw Gibbs crouched next to him, his face unreadable. Tony raised an eyebrow and offered the joint again.

“How about you riding shotgun, Tony?”

The words sent a thrill down his spine and he was half-hard in under ten seconds. He'd heard about it, heard about sharing a joint like that with a really close friend – or your lover. It was intimate, it brought you close.

It was sexy as hell.

“You know how to do it, boss?” Tony breathed. Gibbs answered by taking the joint out of Tony's hand, looking at it and then lifting it to his lips. His eyes never left Tony's face when his lips closed around it and he took a deep drag. Then he leaned down, put his hand on Tony's cheek and tipped his head up before he opened his mouth slightly. Tony's lips opened without hesitation and Gibbs exhaled the smoke into him, sharing not only the drug with him but his scent and breath as well. Tony's hand slid over Gibbs' shoulder to his neck, dragging him closer. Soon the smoke of the joint was gone and Gibbs' tongue slid between Tony's lips to claim him.

It was slow and unhurried, wet tongues sliding against each other, exploring and tasting and teasing, reminding Tony of late summer days in the South, lazy and sweet as molasses. Tony's hand balled into a fist in Gibbs' hair and he groaned silently, wishing for Gibbs to drape himself over Tony's body, to cover him with his strength and his warmth and making him forget everything the drug wasn't able to wipe out of his mind. But instead of getting closer, Gibbs retreated and his lips pecked Tony's one last time before he was gone. Tony whimpered, his hand grasping at nothing and he opened his eyes, confused and fuzzy.

He was alone.

The joint had fallen to the ground, gone out, no more than a bit of rolled up paper and some ash. Tony sighed and dragged his hand over his face in order to shut out the world and his own stupidity.

The downside of smoking weed, he remembered suddenly, were the hallucinations he sometimes had. Or more like _always_ had ever since he started working for NCIS, working for _Gibbs_. God, he was so stupid, falling for his boss who he knew was as straight as a stick and had these damn rules of not dating his co-workers on top of that. He really should know better by now, that his mind loved to play tricks on him when he let his guard down and made him see and experience things straight out of his most secret sexual fantasies. Smoking weed wasn't exactly wise when you knew it tore down all your mental defenses.

His dick was hard in his pants and he could still taste the remnants of smoke on his lips, could still imagine Gibbs' tongue exploring his mouth. He groaned in frustration and tried to shake off the images, the fake memory of Gibbs sharing a joint with him, kissing him. He wasn't very successful, could still feel the phantom touch of lips on lips, of tongues curling around each other.

He wondered what it would be like if it were real.

But he would never know, would he? Gibbs was so far off-limits that it wasn't even funny anymore. And thinking about all this, the emotional mess Tony was in, had killed the happiness and carefree feeling the drug had brought him mere minutes ago. Shit, so much for a relaxed evening on his rooftop.

Getting up from the floor, he picked up the blanket and made his way back to his apartment, the buzz of the drug fading more rapidly now and leaving him tired to the bone. He closed his apartment door behind himself, dropped the blanket and headed straight for his bedroom to curl up in his bed and forget he'd ever been stupid enough to smoke the joint in the first place.

It really had been one hell of a day.


End file.
